


I Married a Witch

by ashesinyourhair



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bewitched AU, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage, Mild Smut, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:05:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashesinyourhair/pseuds/ashesinyourhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bewitched AU. Castiel is a witch, but he’s been doing a good job of pretending not to be—up until he falls in love with Dean and, on their wedding day, realizes that leaving his past behind isn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. He’s going to have to tell Dean the truth, even if it means losing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, there was a typical, ordinary young man named… Castiel.

Okay, so he wasn’t _entirely_ ordinary. He had a strange name, and he tended to stare at people a beat too long and tilt his head just so, like he was trying to figure them out; and both of these things made people uncomfortable. But he did what he could about that. He trained himself to blink and look away from someone before they began to squirm, and he told people to call him “Cas”, which sounded a bit more like a normal name. So he at least _seemed_ ordinary, and that’s almost the same thing.

He was the sous-chef at a nice Italian restaurant, a position he’d recently attained after years of work and study all over the world that had finally brought him back to the city that was his first love, New York. His dream was to open his own place, and though he knew that was a long way off, he was content to work as hard as he could to get there. That meant long hours, and long stretches without days off, and not enough sleep, and no time at all for a social life, even if he’d wanted one, which he didn’t. Or thought he didn’t.

And he might have gone on thinking that, had he not run into another typical, ordinary young man named Dean.

Dean was a junior advertising executive at Sandover & Associates, a position _he’d_ recently attained despite not really meaning to, as what he really liked to do was make art, not sell it. But it was a good job, with benefits and opportunities for promotion, and Dean had seen his parents go through hard enough times to know a job like that wasn’t something to thumb your nose at. So he took it, and he, too, worked long hours and weekends and early mornings and late nights, and rarely saw anyone but his coworkers and clients except in passing.

So it was a rather remarkable coincidence that Castiel and Dean ran into one another at all. It was at a produce market, early one Thursday morning; Dean was there because one of his clients was into juice diets, and the only place he could find acai berries between his apartment and the office was at this particular market. It also happened to be the only place with leeks that met Castiel’s standards. They slipped past each other in the narrow aisles between the vegetables, and neither noticed the other cast an interested but brief glance backward before both went on their way.

It was an _especially_ remarkable coincidence that they ran into each other _again._

This time it was another early morning, the following Tuesday, and Castiel was at the bakery waiting for Lettie to return with his usual order of baguettes when the shop bell chimed. He looked towards the door, and blinked perhaps from the morning sunlight, perhaps from surprise as he recognized the man from the market. He forgot about looking away for politeness’ sake, and the man from the market—and now the bakery too—seemed to be having the same problem. Finally, Lettie’s voice calling Castiel’s name broke the spell, and he turned to take the bag of bread from her, and when he looked back the man was studying the pastry case. Cas looked away quickly this time, and as he reached the door, he heard the man ask Lettie about pie. He didn’t see the man turn to watch him go, or see his lips try out the name he’d overheard.

The third time they ran into each other—in a wine shop that sold both Cas’s favorite moscato and the locally-brewed ale that Dean had been meaning to pick up for his brother’s birthday—they stared at one another for a good five seconds before bursting out laughing. By the time they parted ways, they had exchanged names properly, and phone numbers, and done something very uncharacteristic for both of them: they’d decided to take a day off.

On that day, and over many days after it, they discovered that coincidence apparently knew what it was doing, as they were quite a good match. Cas loved to cook, even when he wasn’t working; Dean loved to eat, and stopped protesting about Cas cooking when he wasn’t at work after one bite of caramel apple pie. Cas loved to watch Dean eat, and to taste the lingering flavors in his mouth afterward. Dean loved to draw, and Cas quickly became his favorite subject, even when he wasn’t doing anything more interesting than chopping vegetables or sipping coffee. Cas learned not to peek at what Dean was drawing before he finished, though if it took too long, he made himself distracting until Dean set his pencil and paper aside in favor of appreciating Cas’s body in a more hands-on way. When Cas ranted about work, Dean eagerly chimed in with “those bastards” or “some people wouldn’t know a good cannoli if it kicked them in the balls”; when Dean was in a mood and wouldn’t say why, Cas was eerily good at figuring it out and getting him to talk about it. They fought and made up, and called each other pet names, and were generally adorable and disgusting in the eyes of everyone they knew, who finally lost their patience and told them to get married already. They agreed.

So it was that Cas found himself wearing a suit for the first time in years and trying to fix his tie in the bathroom mirror. He frowned down at the knot, and was considering just letting Dean do it once he got there, when a voice from the mirror said _“Well, well,”_ and he nearly fell backwards into the shower.

_“Anna,”_ he growled at his sister’s image, reflected in the glass in place of his own.

“Castiel,” she replied, eyes darting briefly over his dress shirt and waistcoat. “Don’t you look nice. What’s the occasion?”

“You know perfectly well,” he said, undoing his tie. “These… _theatrics_ are unnecessary.”

“So I have a flair for the dramatic. You of all people should appreciate that.”

“Anna, please. Not today.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, and sighed. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

Cas glared at the mirror and then headed for the living room. Anna was there waiting for him, perched on the arm of the sofa.

“Speaking of which,” she continued, “tell me about this guy… Dick, was it?”

“Dean,” Cas said. “And I’ve tried to tell you about him, but you weren’t interested. Now, today, suddenly you are?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think you were serious before.”

“I am,” he said firmly. At that moment a thought struck him, and he looked frantically about the room until he spotted the small black box on the coffee table. He snatched up the box and tucked it into the pocket of his suit jacket, which lay over the back of a chair. Anna watched all this with a pitying smile and shook her head sadly.

“He’s _human,_ Castiel,” she said.

“I know that,” Cas replied, touching the small lump in his jacket to make sure it was really there.

“You’ll lose him one day.”

“Not for a long time.”

“Long for whom?”

Cas opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, an exercise he’d adopted long ago for dealing with his family in their more trying moments. When he opened his eyes again, Anna was still frowning at him in sympathy, but it didn’t bother him quite as much.

“What if he finds out?” she asked. “What if he catches you at it?”

Cas smiled, then, and sat at the far end of the sofa. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t hide it forever,” she said. “They’re nosy. _Dumb,_ but nosy. He’ll suspect something, if he doesn’t already, and he’ll start watching you closer, and then one day he’ll catch you, or figure it out, and then what?”

“It won’t happen like that,” Cas said. He hesitated, knowing how she’d react to what he was about to say; but no, this was the right decision. “I’m going to tell him.”

“You’re not!” Anna’s eyes widened, and she slid down from the sofa arm to crouch on the cushion, facing him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“He deserves to know,” Cas said. “And it’s permitted.”

“It’s _stupid!”_ Anna cried. “You _know_ what they’re like. Either he’ll think you’re a freak, or insane—or if he believes you, he’ll want to use your powers for himself. One way or another, it’s going to end badly, and not just for you.”

Cas felt he’d done well so far at not letting Anna rile him up. But he had his limits, and it turned out that this unfounded assault on Dean’s character was one of them. There’s no telling what he might have said to his sister, and what damage might have been done, if his intercom hadn’t buzzed at that very moment. So all he said was, “Excuse me,” and he stood and crossed to the door.

_“It’s me,”_ Dean said over the speaker.

“I know.” Cas smiled; just the sound of Dean’s voice was enough to calm him considerably. “Come on up.”

He hit the buzzer, then turned back around. This time Anna wasn’t watching him, but staring down at her hands as he approached.

“You should go,” he said softly. “If you’d like to be there today—”

“Are you going to tell him now?” she asked, looking up.

“No.”

“When?”

Cas hesitated; why did it matter? “Later,” he said. “Tonight, probably.” If they weren’t too distracted.

But Anna’s eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid.”

Cas shook his head. “Anna, please. Dean will be here any second, you should—”

“You’re afraid he wouldn’t marry you. If he knew.”

“Anna—”

“You are!”

“ _Please,_ ” he said, and to his horror his voice caught on the word. He swallowed, hard. 

“Oh, Castiel.” Anna rose from the sofa and crept up to him, brow creased in sympathy. She reached up to stroke his hair, as she’d done very, very long ago, and for a moment he let himself relax into her soothing touch; but then he felt tears threaten, and he pulled away.

Anna’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a line, and she yanked her hand away and stepped back. “Fine,” she snapped. “You know what? Fine. If you’re determined to get your heart broken, I’m not going to stop you. You can learn the hard way, too.”

“Anna—”

But there was a knock at the door, and Cas glanced reflexively toward the sound. When he looked back to Anna, she was gone.

Cas took another calming breath and slowly let it out. He touched his face to make sure no tears had escaped after all. Then he went to the door, and when he reached it, he paused there for a moment to center himself. He opened it.

Dean stood waiting, head bowed, and as the door opened he looked up to meet Cas’s eyes and gave him a half-smile. Cas had suspected for some time that this combination of look-up-meet-eyes-smile was a practiced move crafted specifically to render him stunned for Dean’s amusement, but his suspicion didn’t stop it from working. He let himself hold Dean’s gaze—politely breaking eye contact had been an easy habit to lose where Dean was concerned—then slowly trailed his eyes down along the lines of Dean’s suit and back up his body. The faintest blush tinged Dean’s cheeks when their eyes met again, and he just said, “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replied, and then he was being pushed back into his apartment, seized by his undone tie and drawn into a kiss. His hands hesitated over Dean’s body as he tried to think how to avoid wrinkling what he’d decided was a very pleasing suit. He settled for cupping Dean’s face in both his hands and tipping his head to deepen the kiss.

Dean obliged eagerly, and when he finally came up for air it was only to murmur, mostly into Cas’s mouth, “You know, we could just skip the wedding and go right to the honeymoon.”

“Cold feet?” Cas asked lightly—though as soon as the words were out, he remembered what Anna had said, and he tensed in spite of himself.

“No way.” Dean didn’t seem to notice; he still had his eyes closed, forehead resting against Cas’s. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“Ah,” Cas said, and even that one syllable sounded shaky to his ears; he didn’t trust himself to say anything more.

Dean dragged his fingers down the loose ends of Cas’s tie. “Half-Windsor still kicking your ass?” he asked, eyes open now, and stood back a little for a better view as he crossed one end over the other. “Sure you’re not botching this on purpose just to get me to do it?”

“Not entirely,” Cas said softly, and when Dean’s eyes flicked to his, he managed what he hoped was a convincing smile. He watched Dean’s fingers weave the tie into a smart knot, all the while trying to ignore the guilty feeling that had begun to smolder somewhere near his heart.

“There you go,” Dean said, and refastened the buttons of Cas’s waistcoat over his tie. He smoothed the fabric down unnecessarily, fingertips lingering over Cas’s chest, then stepped back and looked him up and down. “Wow, you, uh…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “You look damn good, Cas.”

The look in Dean’s eyes _should_ have initiated a series of events that led to them showing up late to their own wedding, with unkempt hair and a few hastily re-sewn buttons. It shouldn’t have been something Cas had to glance away from. The guilt in his chest flared hot, began to crawl up his throat. He should just say it. Just say it and get it over with.

He looked up into Dean’s eyes, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

_Say it._ He parted his lips. _Say it._

“Cas?”

And with a _pop!—_ all the lights in the apartment went out.

Dean groaned. “Hope that wasn’t the whole building, or we’re about to have to walk down forty flights,” he said. “Where’s your breaker box?”

“Kitchen,” Cas said, automatically. He stepped aside to let Dean pass, heard him curse under his breath as he bumped into something in the near-dark.

He looked down at his hands. They were tingling, like the circulation was just returning. There was a faint ringing in his ears and a purplish sheen of afterimage to his vision. His head felt vaguely as though a small supernova had exploded inside it.

The lights came back on.

“Lucky us,” Dean said as he emerged from the kitchen. “Just a tripped breaker. That happen a lot?”

“No,” Cas said. “Not in a long time.”

Dean nodded. “Well, speaking of time…” He glanced at his watch. A nervous smile twitched at his lips. “You ready?”

Cas took a deep breath. The flame of guilt beneath his ribs had dropped to pilot-light level, and when he replied, “Ready,” his voice didn’t tremble in the least. Yes. He could do this.

They took the elevator down, since Dean was confident the power blink was localized and they wouldn’t end up spending their wedding day trapped halfway down the highrise.

As the doors closed in front of them, Cas realized with a twinge of regret that he was leaving his apartment for the last time; his belongings were already in boxes, and the movers would have everything at their new house by the time they got back from their honeymoon. He’d left a lot of places behind over the years, but mostly none of them had felt like home, so much as just a place to sleep for a few hours between shifts. This one had, in the end. It was the first place, since he’d left his parents’ house all those years ago, that he’d actually _lived_ in. That he had real memories of.

Looking over at Dean, who was leaning against the back wall of the elevator with his eyes closed, he knew why that was. He wondered what he’d be doing today if he hadn’t run into Dean at that market, or the bakery, or the wine shop, or if he’d kept looking away like he’d taught himself to do back when all he wanted was to pass for normal. Back when he thought he only had two choices: learn to blend in with humans and hide the things that made him different, or separate himself from the world he wanted so much to experience. Now he knew there were other choices, if he had the nerve to make them.

He’d found the answer in a very old book, the last time family obligations had forced him to go home, and family disagreements had driven him to hide out in his cousin Rachel’s library. At the time it hadn’t occurred to him that it _was_ an answer, because he didn’t yet have the question. But it had stayed at the back of his mind for years, and then Dean had come along, and when he finally realized his problem, the solution was waiting for him.

Mortality.

He was almost certain he could do it. He _wanted_ to; it was just tricky, and would require breaking a lot of bad habits, to start with. And most of his family would never speak to him again—not that _that_ was much of a change, since they’d pretty much written him off years ago. But it was what he wanted; of that he was absolutely certain. And most of the time, it was enough to damp down his guilt at not telling Dean the truth. Yes, he was a witch. But he wouldn’t be for much longer.

And if Dean reacted badly when he did finally tell him, maybe this would be his saving grace.

Dean opened his eyes, and smirked as he caught Cas watching him. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

“Yes. But you never seemed to mind.”

Dean chuckled, and moved to stand in front of him, pulled him close. “I don’t, and they’re wrong,” he said, and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. “So don’t ever change, okay?”

Cas didn’t reply. Keeping secrets was one thing, but he wasn’t going to make a promise he fully intended to break.

Dean apparently had been expecting some sort of response, because he pulled back to look at Cas. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Cas said, and felt it sounded pretty convincing.

“No, there’s something,” Dean said. “You were gonna say something back there, right before the power blew. Hey, whatever it is… just tell me.”

The concern in his eyes twisted something in Cas’s chest. He imagined, in the space of moments, telling Dean everything, and watching that look change to something else—something dark, hurt, betrayed. He imagined those eyes turning away from him and not ever looking back.

Not now. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t explain everything properly; he needed more time. Just a little more time. He swallowed hard, anxiety constricting his throat, and managed to say almost casually: “Last chance to back out.”

Dean’s brow furrowed, and he searched Cas’s face as though trying to tell how serious he was. Apparently what he saw didn’t reassure him, and he grasped both of Cas’s hands in his.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice soft but urgent. “Nothing could make me do that, all right? So wherever this is coming from, if you need to talk about it, we’ll talk about it. I’ll call Sam and tell them to crack open the booze and give us a while. It’s no problem. Just… I need to know that we’re on the same page. Me, I’ve got every intention of going down to that church and marrying you, as long as that’s what you want to do.” He paused and glanced down, and there was another uncharacteristic flash of uncertainty. “ _Is_ that what you want to do?” he asked softly.

Without thinking about it, Cas slipped one of his hands from Dean’s grasp and fit it over the line of Dean’s jaw. The warmth that flooded through him when Dean leaned into the touch briefly obscured the burn of guilt and fear. “ _Yes_ ,” he said, truthfully, and pressed his mouth to Dean’s. Dean seemed to hesitate, but after a moment he relaxed into the kiss, as though in relief.

There was a soft _ding_ , and the elevator doors opened. Cas dimly noticed this, but they didn’t break apart until a girl’s voice cooed “Aww!” and Dean started, blushing furiously.

“Yeah, I know, thanks,” he said, not looking at the girl, one of Cas’s now-former neighbors. He jerked his head towards the lobby doors. “Wanna go get hitched?”

“I do,” Cas replied.

Dean’s hand went to the small of Cas’s back as they left the elevator and headed for the doors, and as they emerged into the afternoon sunlight, Cas told himself that everything was going to be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

The ceremony was mostly a blur. When they first got to the altar, Dean looked out across the pews and realized everyone he knew was out there watching him, and he actually felt the blood drain from his face. Cas wasn’t in much better shape: he kept licking his lips nervously, and fidgeting like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Dean was barely hearing anything the preacher said. Unfortunately, he’d spent the rehearsal whispering in Cas’s ear trying to make him blush while Jess ordered him to behave and pay attention, neither of which he really did; so he had no idea if he was jumping the gun, ceremony-wise, when he grasped Cas’s hand and laced their fingers together. Cas looked over at him, grateful and relieved, and let out a breath that seemed to carry all his tension away with it. He squeezed Dean’s hand, and Dean grinned, and from there on out, it was easy.

The reception afterward was extravagant bordering on ridiculous, as Balthazar, the head chef Cas worked under, who loved a good party more than just about anything else, had insisted on taking care of the whole thing as his gift to the happy couple. Cas had to talk Dean into trying some of the more elaborate items on his plate, and had ended up jokingly force-feeding him a truffle-and-goat-cheese stuffed mushroom while Jess giggled tipsily and his coworker Meg made gagging noises, and Sam made a halfhearted attempt to look grossed out through the goofy smile he’d been wearing all day. Dean danced with Jess, who insisted on leading, and Cas danced with Dean’s mom, Mary, both of them whispering back and forth and occasionally glancing at Dean in a way that made him extremely nervous. Sam made a slightly tipsy, weepy, hilarious best man speech that Dean vowed to save on his phone for all time.

Things finally started to wind down around sunset. Most of their more casual acquaintances had congratulated them again and said goodbye, so the only people left to see them off were Dean’s family and might-as-well-be family, and a few of Cas’s coworkers and the one relative who was there, his cousin Inias. The small group was just fine with Dean; he’d about had his fill of being the center of attention.

Cas was leaning against the wall by the bar, watching Sam and Jess slow dancing. His jacket was off and his cuffs undone, his posture easier and more relaxed than Dean had seen him all day. When he lifted his champagne glass to his lips, the glint of the ring on his left hand caught Dean’s eye. He’d barely set the glass down before Dean was in his space, carding his fingers through the back of his hair and parting his lips with his tongue. Cas made a low, pleased sound and drew Dean closer, pushed against him. Dean gasped softly at the friction, and Cas broke the kiss and pulled back to look at him, eyes darkened and gleaming.

“Whaddya say we get out of here?” Dean murmured.

“I’d say it’s imperative,” Cas replied.

Dean turned to get Sam’s attention, pointed at himself and Cas and then the door. Sam nodded, and he and Jess started directing everyone outside. Dean steeled himself for this last little bit of spectacle, hoping to hell Sam knew better than to have written “JUST MARRIED” or anything else on his car. Cas was shrugging back into his jacket and looking suddenly anxious again, and Dean pulled him in for a quick, reassuring kiss.

“Let’s go,” he said. Cas nodded.

Jess had talked them into sparklers instead of rice, because it was _an evening departure_ and _they’d be so pretty_ , etc. Dean had to laugh at her pleased grin versus Bobby’s skeptical look as Jess lit his sparkler. Dean grasped Cas’s hand, and they headed down the steps, pausing here and there for goodbyes—Dean to high-five Sam and hug his mom, Cas to accept a lascivious wink and peck on the cheek from Meg and a clap on the shoulder from Inias.

“How ’bout another kiss?!” Jess called out as they reached the end of the line. Dean made a show of groaning and checking his watch, but when Cas pulled him in and unselfconsciously laid one on him, he decided there were worse things than kissing his new husband ( _holy shit_ ) in front of a bunch of people. They broke apart grinning and blushing at the whistles and cheers, and finally got into the (mercifully undecorated) car.

Dean let out sigh of relief as he settled in behind the wheel. He rarely got to drive the Impala since he’d moved to the city, and he’d missed her. He felt at home in this car, in control of things. Glancing over at Cas, though, he frowned a little watching him fumble with his seatbelt, then sit back stiffly and huff out a shaky breath, only to start right in fiddling with his cuffs. Dean reached across the seat and caught his hand, and Cas jerked his head up, brow knit with unmistakable worry.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“I’m fine.”

Dean started to protest, but Cas’s expression was guarded: whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t ready to give it up right now. They had about an hour’s drive to the hotel where they were staying before their flight the next day; Dean figured if he was patient, he had a chance of getting Cas talking while they drove. If that failed, they’d talk later. They had all the time in the world now.

“Okay,” he said finally. He ran his thumb across Cas’s ring, then gave his hand a squeeze before returning his own to the wheel. 

Outside the windows, the sparklers had died out, and he could see only the silhouettes of everyone waiting on the church steps to see them off. He turned the key in the ignition.

“ _Jesus!_ ” he yelped as everything came alive at once, the stereo at top volume and the air on full blast, the wipers squealing across the windshield and every warning light on the console flashing and beeping. He wrenched the key back, and the car fell silent.

“Huh,” he said. “Okay… let’s try that again.” He spun down the volume and AC knobs, checked the other controls. Then he cranked the car again, and this time, she started up perfectly as though nothing had happened.

Cas, meanwhile, was staring at the Impala like she was possessed.

“Probably just mad I neglected her,” Dean said, running his hands over the wheel. “She’ll be good now.” He winked at Cas reassuringly, and Cas responded with a fond smirk that tempered Dean’s concern a little. He shifted into gear and eased on the gas.

There was another burst of cheers and applause as the car pulled out. Then the road was under them, and everything else was falling away behind.

 

They didn’t talk about Cas’s now-obvious anxiety during the drive to the hotel. Dean tried to nudge the conversation in that direction, and Cas appreciated his concern but deflected every attempt. It was better for both of them that way. The incident with the car had confirmed for him what was going on: his anxiety was leaking out in the form of uncontrolled magic, which tended to wreak all sorts of havoc with everything around him, especially (though not exclusively) electrical systems. Years of experience with this problem, albeit when he was much younger, told him that it would only get worse until he confronted his worries—which in this case meant telling Dean everything and facing his reaction. Until he felt safe and calm enough to do that, he was better off putting it out of his mind. And a car that he could accidentally cause to crash, and that he’d be unable to save them from without all his wits about him, was not a place where he felt safe or calm.

Frankly, he was iffy on cars at the best of times. Dean had sworn he’d teach him to drive, now that they had a place outside the city where Cas could learn without the constant threat of being run down by a bus. Cas agreed to it, because he knew it meant a lot that Dean would let him behind the wheel of his beloved car. Mostly, though, he just missed flying.

He’d been trying to wean himself off magic ever since he decided to become mortal, and flying was the hardest to let go of. It was so convenient being able to just _whoosh_ from place to place, especially since he preferred to avoid vehicular travel; but more than that, he loved the sensation of soaring through the in-between spaces, how he came out of it with his blood rushing, and strange, cold air in his lungs. His other powers were mostly handy tricks he could learn to do without. Flying was the one thing he’d actually regret losing.

It’d be worth it, though. For what he was getting in return… Cas looked over at Dean, the dim light softly illuminating his serene features, glimmering off the ring on his hand atop the steering wheel as he guided the car along the road. Dean must’ve felt Cas’s gaze, because he glanced over, and he scanned Cas’s face before cracking a half smile and laying his hand on Cas’s knee. Cas covered it with his own, and he could just make out the quick fall of Dean’s chest as he softly let out the breath he’d been holding.

 

Valet service, a welcome luxury to most people staying in a hotel, was evidently a cause of significant anxiety for Dean. While Cas helped pull their luggage from the trunk, to the protests of the nervous young bellhop, he listened with amusement as Dean explained to the valet each of the Impala’s idiosyncrasies in regards to handling, shifting, and braking. 

Luckily, they were still engaged in this conversation when the bellhop placed one too many suitcases on one side of the luggage cart and the whole thing began to tilt precariously towards the car. As the bellhop flung his arms out to stop the bags sliding off the top, Cas twitched his nose surreptitiously. The cart righted itself, a few suitcases sliding into just the right position to balance it, and the bellhop uttered a brief prayer of thanks under his breath. Dean and the valet both turned around, only to see Cas shutting the trunk and the bellhop carefully guiding the cart towards the doors.

When they were finally in their room, and Cas had made sure to slip the bellhop a generous tip, and a Do Not Disturb sign was hung from the doorknob, Dean shut and locked the door and then sank back against it with a deep, relieved sigh. He tugged his tie loose, and undid his cuffs, and it wasn’t until he glanced up and paused, staring at Cas through his lashes, that Cas realized he’d been watching this display with his mouth half-open. Dean smirked, pushed off from the door and advanced on him, slowly drawing the tie out of his collar and pulling it through his fingers. It was still clutched in his hand when he reached up to Cas’s face and claimed Cas’s mouth with his, and Cas couldn’t resist rubbing his cheek against the silken material. Dean hummed in approval and dropped his other hand to Cas’s hip, and began tugging Cas’s shirttail out of his slacks.

All the while, there was a prodding sensation at the back of Cas’s mind that he was forgetting something, but he swatted it away. It was easy enough to lose himself in his sheer heightened awareness of Dean, of the nearly faded scent of his cologne and the lingering taste of champagne in his mouth, the barest stubble along his jaw and every small gasp of his breath. Easy enough to pretend the anxious drumming of his heart was nothing but excitement as Dean unbuttoned his shirt and nipped at his neck, that the heat flaring in his chest was simply arousal at the feel of Dean’s skin beneath his hands. His own skin seemed to glow red-hot everywhere Dean touched him, and as they moved toward the bed he had a sudden mad thought that if he touched the linens they would catch fire; a mad thought, but enough to make him hesitate, and to gasp “ _Wait_ ” just as Dean pushed at his hips and the back of his knees hit the mattress, toppling them both toward the bed—

The only warning was a _fffshhhh_ from overhead, and then it was raining, and Dean yelped and scrambled to his feet while Cas looked around frantically for the fire. There was no sign of one, but this didn’t seem to matter to the sprinkler in the middle of the ceiling, which went on pouring down a cold shower while in the background Dean was yelling something over the phone. He hung up, cursing, and started yanking his pants back on, and Cas did the same, blinking through the purple afterglow overlaying his vision. As soon as they were minimally dressed, Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hallway, which was being similarly rained on and filling with similarly drenched guests. They headed down the stairs, Dean in the lead, Cas gripping the railing and feeling sick.

All things considered, it was impressive that it only took the hotel half an hour to get them a new room: a much nicer suite on the VIP level, where all of the guests  on their floor who’d elected to stay had been relocated by the extremely apologetic management. Their luggage was recovered and placed in their room personally by the hotel owner, who Dean had to repeatedly assure that no complimentary champagne or chocolates or dinner or any other gifts would be necessary, they were happy just to be left alone, thanks, good night. When finally the door was shut and locked with a brand-new Do Not Disturb sign on the outside, and they’d tossed their complimentary towels into the bathroom and stripped out of their damp clothes, Dean flopped back onto the (much larger and fluffier) bed, and began to laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, grinning, and Cas just stared, incredulous at how good-humored he could be about this. “I guess we had this coming. This, this is like… I don’t know, karma for how easy it’s been for us, or something. Jeez.” He looked up at Cas—and the grin faded, replaced by a furrowed brow and a frown. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice going soft, and pushed off the bed to come over and frame Cas’s face with his hands. “I was kidding, Cas. It’s just a joke.”

“I know,” Cas said, his mouth dry, voice dead. “It wasn’t karma… not yours, at any rate. It was me.”

Dean shook his head, uncomprehending. “What’re you talking about? That was just some freak hair-trigger fire alarm thing. Somebody was probably smoking in one of the rooms or something.”

“And my apartment?”

“Babe, that was a tripped breaker. I fixed it myself. Come on, where’s this coming from?” He stroked his thumb over Cas’s cheek, and the feel of it made tears spring to Cas’s eyes, because he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve Dean, standing here comforting him, telling him it wasn’t his fault when it was.

He pulled Dean’s hands from his face and stepped back, and Dean’s eyes widened in something almost like fear. More appropriate than he knew. “Cas—”

“I have to tell you something.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay.”

“You might want to sit down.”

He didn’t. “Cas, you’re freaking me out. Whatever it is, just… just lay it on me. Just say it.”

Cas took a breath. Now, in the moment, there seemed to be no words, and at the same time too many. How could he explain, in the precious few seconds he would have before the words began to register and he would feel Dean pulling away, drawing back out of his reach forever? What could he possibly say that could delay that, give him just enough time to say _I’m sorry, I love you_ before Dean was gone?

“Cas?” Dean prompted, his voice frayed and unsure.

There was nothing else to say, and no more time.

“Dean,” Cas said, “I’m a witch.”

The words hung in the air, in the silence between two men holding their breaths. Now that they were out, the burn of guilt and fear was gone from Cas’s chest, and he felt empty and cold. He shivered.

“I don’t know what that means,” Dean said, finally.

“A witch,” Cas repeated. The word sounded so strange, after so long, like it wasn’t even a word at all. “I can do things… I’m older than you think. Than I told you. There’s so much I haven’t told you, Dean. I’m sorry. I—” The words caught in his throat. “Please say something,” he managed to whisper.

Dean’s eyes were wide—definitely scared, now. He raised a hand, though whether to reach out to Cas or to keep him at bay, Cas couldn’t tell, and Dean didn’t seem to be sure himself.

“This is a joke?” he said, half like a question. “Or is this something serious? Is this…” He sucked in a breath. “Is something happening? Do you need me to get help?”

Cas shook his head. “This isn’t psychological. Or… I suppose in a way it is. That’s what I was trying to tell you: the power outage, the sprinklers, your car back at the church… all that was me. It happens—it’s been a long time, but I think the stress of hiding this from you… I have it under control, I never—”

“How is that possible?” Dean asked. “What you’re talking about, that’s not—that kind of stuff isn’t real.”

“It is real,” Cas said. “A lot of things are real that you may not yet believe in. And I’ll explain all those things to you, I’ll show them to you, if you just give me the chance. Please, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, slowly, as though in a daze. He backed to the bed and sank onto it, clutching the edge as though it was the only way to anchor himself to reality. Cas wanted desperately to go to him, to fall to his knees in front of him and clasp Dean’s hands in his and kiss his fingertips and beg his forgiveness. Instead he stayed rooted where he stood, a few feet away that may as well have been miles.

“I don’t…” Dean began, after a minute. “You’re serious about this? I mean, this is real, it’s not some prank or… or some metaphor I’m not getting?”

“It’s real,” Cas repeated. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” Dean said. “Feel like I’d need a few drinks in me first.”

Cas didn’t reply, but flicked his gaze toward the bedside table. After a moment, Dean looked up at him, and then followed his sight line until his own gaze fell on the brown glass bottle now sitting on the nightstand.

“That wasn’t—” Dean said. “Was that—?” He looked back at Cas, who made no response. He swallowed nervously. “You know, I said _a few_ drinks.”

Cas blinked back at him. He didn’t have to look at the table again to know that there were now three beers sitting on it, which Dean discovered when he worked up the nerve to take a look. He flinched back, leapt to his feet and backed a little away from the table, as though it might come to life at any moment and bite him.

“Okay,” he said, and took a few shaky breaths. “Okay. That’s, um… That’s a hell of a trick, Cas.”

“It’s not a trick,” Cas said. “It’s magic.”

“Magic,” Dean repeated, a little weakly. “Right, okay. So, then… What else you got?”

Cas tilted his head. “You don’t believe me?”

Dean sighed. “I got no idea what’s going on, Cas. I’ve never believed in any of that stuff, you know that. There’s always some other way to explain it. I just… I don’t know how to believe in something like that. It can’t be real.” His eyes pleaded for _something,_ and his fists clenched and relaxed like they were aching for anything to hold onto, anything real. Cas wished it could be him.

“You need proof,” Cas said. “Something that can’t be sleight of hand, or a trick of the light. Something extraordinary.”

Dean chuckled sadly. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I do.”

Cas held out his hand. Dean stared at it, then lifted his gaze to meet Cas’s.

“You’ll have to hold onto me,” Cas said. “I haven’t done this with anyone else in a long time.”

“Done what?”

When Cas didn’t answer, Dean looked back at the extended hand, clenching his jaw like he tended to do when he was thinking hard about something. Presently, he stood up, took a breath, and slipped his hand into Cas’s. 

Something unknotted in Cas’s stomach at the touch, even though he knew he had little to be relieved about; just that small point of contact with Dean grounded him, gave him a little more strength. 

“Closer,” he said gently, almost apologetically. Dean moved in to Cas’s space, though he held some part of himself just a little bit back. Cas tried to ignore the sting of it, tried to work out a way to hold Dean securely but not intimately, and finally settled for clasping Dean’s arms near the elbows and letting Dean do the same. “I’d suggest closing your eyes.”

Dean, instead, locked eyes with Cas. There was a flash of defiance in that look, though it seemed to soften as he held Cas’s gaze. “Just do it,” he whispered.

Cas closed his eyes.

There was a _snap_ around them like a sheet caught by the wind, then the sensation of the air between them being sucked away before billowing back out from the center, nudging them apart. Dean’s fingers dug into Cas’s arms, and Cas tightened his own grip in return. A breeze rushed past them from all directions and none, and then silence fell again. Cas opened his eyes to find Dean’s squeezed shut.

“You can look now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean’s lids didn’t even flicker, nor did he relax his grip.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

Dean slowly opened one eye, then the other, at the same time slowly loosening his hold on Cas as he peered around. Then his eyes went wide, and he said “ _Son of a—_ ” and grasped madly for Cas, clutched his arms in a death grip. “Where the hell are we?” he asked, eyes shut tight again and head bowed towards Cas’s chest.

“The Grand Canyon.” Cas looked out past the promontory where they stood, across the striped, stepped earth stretching past the limits of even his sight, between a clear blue sky and the Colorado River far below. “A spot called Bright Angel Point.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be railings?” Dean asked. He was trembling ever so slightly, and Cas wished his arms were free to draw Dean in closer, to promise him safety.

“Not at the moment,” Cas said. “But I won’t let you fall.”

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean’s voice shook, but he pried open his eyes. He sucked in a breath as he registered the view, and only once made the mistake of looking down at their feet, where they stood so near the edge of the narrow jut of rock. Cursing softly, he reoriented his gaze across the canyon, taking in the sights with ever-widening eyes, all the while Cas watched him with an equal degree of wonder. “This is real.”

“Yes.”

“We’re actually standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon.”

“Yes.”

“Naked.”

Cas blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” A blush tinged Dean’s cheeks. “So, you know, before any tourists show up…”

“That won’t be for some time,” Cas said. Off Dean’s look, he sighed, twitched his nose, and they were both dressed in t-shirts and jeans from their suitcases. Dean’s shirt, as usual, was one of Cas’s; he hadn’t bought anything but suits for years before they met, but had amassed a collection from their fourth date on by making off with Cas’s shirts, one by one. Cas had tried to mind and failed miserably.

“Thanks,” Dean said. He was looking down at his shirt—which bore the name of a San Francisco pizzeria Cas had worked at in the ’80s—but whether his mind was tracing over similar memories and feelings as Cas’s was, or whether he resented being stuck with Cas, in Cas’s clothes, here on the edge of the world, was impossible to discern from his tone or expression. His eyes didn’t linger on Cas as he looked up and then out over the canyon, and for several minutes he was silent, taking in the ancient landscape. 

Their position, standing sideways to the point, forced Dean to crane his neck and look over his shoulder to see some of the view. Cas ventured to break the silence to ask, “Would you like to turn around and look out properly?”

Dean’s eyes flashed panic. “Yeah, no, I’m fine here,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were afraid of heights.”

“Neither did I, till I was _zapped to the edge of a mile-deep canyon.”_ Some of the color went out of Dean’s face at the words, as though the reality of where they stood had struck him anew.

“Would you like to go back?” Cas asked.

“That’d be great.”

Cas closed his eyes again and let the wind take them. He breathed deep this time, as the forces carrying them tugged at their hair and clothing; he wanted to fill his lungs with this strange, cold air that he’d missed so much. If Dean forgave him, if he hadn’t ruined everything, this might be the last time he breathed it.

When he felt the walls of the hotel room fold back in around them, he let go of Dean—too soon, it turned out, as Dean swayed and fell against him. Cas caught him under his arms, his own face pressed into Dean’s hair, and resisted the urge to hold him, but instead helped him over to the bed. When Dean was sitting up under his own power, Cas backed away, hovered anxiously just at the edge of his space. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. He realized, once the words were out, that it was a ludicrous question.

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his clasped hands. “I need to think,” he said quietly. “This is… It’s a lot, Cas. It’s…” He sighed. “I don’t know what else it is yet.”

“I understand,” Cas managed to say, through the tightness in his throat.

Dean stood, swaying only a little. He looked around the room, located his pants and dug out his phone and wallet. “I’m gonna take a walk,” he said. “I’ll be back…” He hesitated over the end of the sentence, then left the room with it still hanging in the air, and shut the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas didn’t move, even after Dean’s footsteps had faded away down the hall. He remained staring at the door, utterly at a loss for what to do next. Going after Dean, much as he wanted to, seemed unwise; Dean deserved this time to process all that had happened and decide what to do about it ( _decide whether to leave,_ Cas thought, and wished he hadn’t). He also very much wanted to lie down on the bed, pull the covers over his head, and shut the world out; but he knew with certainty that if he so much as sat down, the tears would come and wouldn’t stop, and in any case he couldn’t bear the thought of climbing into that bed alone.

Their wedding clothes were still scattered around the room. The ties and jackets, left behind during the sprinkler debacle and delivered afterward, were folded over the backs of chairs at the breakfast table by the balcony; the rest, shirts and slacks and underwear, lay where they’d peeled them off as soon as they had the room to themselves. Cas considered picking them up; but then, he thought… _why not?_ What was he holding back for, now? He twitched his nose, and the suits were hanging up in the closet, dry and pressed, the water stains vanished as though they’d never existed. Socks and shorts were also dry and folded in a dresser drawer, and shoes shined and lined up below the foot of the bed. No trace remained of the ordeals of the evening, except for the conspicuous absence of one of the newlyweds.

“You know that I would never say ‘I told you so,’” said a voice from the breakfast nook.

“That’s just another way of saying it,” Cas replied.

Anna glanced over her shoulder, out the full-length windows onto the balcony, their sheer curtains parted slightly to let in the moonlight. “Nice view,” she said. “Wouldn’t have figured Derek for a big spender.”

“Dean,” Cas corrected automatically, and winced at the way his heart twinged. “Anna, if you’re here to gloat, please…”

“I’m not,” she said, turning back around. “I’m not cruel, Castiel. All I ever cared about was protecting you. Especially from something like this.”

“I didn’t want to be protected,” Cas said. “That’s what none of you ever understood. You hid yourselves from the world, but I wanted to live in it. I knew the risks. They were worth it to me.”

“Are they still?” Anna stood, crossing in front of the windows as she came toward him, the moonlight making a halo around her head. “If he doesn’t come back—if you never see him again—was whatever you had worth this pain?”

Cas closed his eyes. He pictured Dean, smiling—Dean was always smiling in Cas’s thoughts, even now. He remembered how Dean had behaved the first time he saw him, and even the second: how quickly he’d looked away, drawn back into himself, as though even the brief glance they’d shared in passing had revealed too much of him. How, when they met for a serendipitous third time, Dean’s anxious expression and indrawn breath gave way finally to a smile, then laughter, and Cas hadn’t been able to help laughing too, so pleased to have that smile directed at him. How kissing Dean for the first time had felt both unlike any other kiss of his life, and like something they’d been doing for years, lifetimes. How waking up tangled with Dean, even when it meant his arm was asleep or his neck ached from being bent into a weird position, made him wonder how he’d ever slept peacefully alone, and certain that he never could again. How feeling Dean’s fingers interlace with his at the altar, and looking over to see his reassuring smile, had made it irrefutable in his mind that this was the right decision, that everything it had taken to get him there was worth it.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “It was worth it.”

Anna smiled her sad, sympathetic smile, and drew him into an embrace. He let her, and for a moment he was a child again, and his sister’s arms shut out the world, kept his nightmares at bay, dragged him free of the undertow. She cradled his head to her shoulder. “Come home, Castiel,” she whispered. “You had the world for a little while. No one can take that from you. Come back and share what you’ve learned. We’ve missed you so much.”

“Anna…” Cas murmured. He drew back, pressed a kiss to her forehead as he loosed himself from her embrace, though he still clasped her hands gently. “I missed you as well. And I’m sorry I left the way I did.”

“It’s forgiven,” she said. “All that matters is that you know where you belong now.”

“I do know.” He stepped back, letting her hands drop, and confusion passed over her face. “I’m sorry, Anna. But even if Dean… even if this part of my life is over, the rest of it is still in this world. I’m happy here. This is where I belong.”

“Castiel, don’t do this,” Anna said, desperation creeping into her voice. “This is your chance to come back, don’t you see? They would forgive you. We all make mistakes—”

“This wasn’t a mistake,” Cas said.

“Then what would you call it?” Her tone was harsh, cutting—even cruel, despite what she thought about herself. But not far beneath the surface, it was fragile, near breaking. He knew she’d missed him, worried about him; but she’d never seemed this distraught, not when he’d first left and never in the years since. Not until this morning, when she found out he was going to tell Dean the truth. Now he knew what she’d been afraid of, even if he still didn’t understand why she took it so personally.

“I’d call it living,” he said. “Humans do it all the time.”

Anna shook her head. “Guess I just don’t see the appeal,” she said. “Well. I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“I think it does.”

Anna turned back towards the balcony, her pale skin catching the moonlight like a mirror. In between one heartbeat and the next, with no more sound than the rustle of silk, she was gone, and Cas was alone again.

 

Dean sat hunched over the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him but currently being ignored in favor of the napkin he was sketching on with a ballpoint pen. The image taking shape was already not quite right; the fine lines were too hard to control on the rough, thin paper with clotted ink. He squinted at it, trying to figure if he could improve it with with a few touch-ups _there_ and _there_ , or whether he was just as likely to screw it up beyond fixing. While he thought it over, he drained his glass and signaled the bartender for a refill.

He was very determinedly not thinking about what had happened upstairs, which meant that, subconsciously, it was all he was thinking about. Some moments it seemed like something he must’ve dreamed—had to be, because none of that stuff was real. Other moments, he remembered Cas’s eyes as he’d told him: that look he got, like a puppy expecting to be kicked, that scared Dean to death even more so than the things Cas was saying. That was real.

Goddammit. Cas had been terrified to tell him those things, and he’d—what? Hadn’t yelled at him; at least, he didn’t think he had, and here he had to replay the tape in his mind to be sure. No, he didn’t yell, but he didn’t do much to comfort Cas, either. Not once he understood what he was hearing. Cas was scared, but dammit, so was he. Of all the things Cas could’ve sprung on him, of all the times…

Why hadn’t he said something before? Dean tried to imagine Cas telling him—on their second or third date, when you start dragging out crap like “I have herpes” or “I used to belong to this doomsday cult” or “I have magical powers and I might be hundreds of years old.” _Fuck._ He took another gulp of whiskey.

He would’ve been all right with it, wouldn’t he? If Cas had just told him one day while they were at home, while he was making lunch, or Dean was inking an illustration, or they were watching one of the Harry Potter movies—which Cas’s obsession with was now cast in a whole new light. He would’ve freaked out a little, sure, but Cas would’ve explained, and Dean would’ve decided that it didn’t matter if he was a witch or werewolf or vampire or what the hell ever, and everything would’ve been okay, right? 

So what was different now? Was it just that Cas had decided to drop this bombshell right in the middle of what should’ve been ridiculously hot, uninhibited, these-walls-are-sorta-soundproof-aren’t-they honeymoon sex? Was it just the stress of the wedding and the traveling and the trying to relax and not think about impending bullshit like moving and paperwork and neighbors who’ll probably want to have barbecues all the time? Was it because now they were married, and if he wanted out they’d have to—

He pulled out his phone and punched at the screen, missing several times due to his hands shaking.

_“Dean?”_

“Hey, Sammy.” So his voice was shaking, too. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable over the connection.

“Dean, are you all right? Is Cas—is something wrong?”

Dean swallowed and chose to answer selectively. “No, we’re fine. No emergency.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Okay, well, why are you calling?” Sam asked. “I mean, not that I want to talk about this in any detail whatsoever, but don’t you have better things to be doing right now?”

He let the silence hang too long—probably should’ve cracked some dirty joke that would’ve made Sam, for all his open-mindedness and maturity, so embarrassed Dean could practically _hear_ his face turn red. Instead he just silently traced over the lines of his napkin drawing.

He heard rustling over the phone, muffled voices, and then the sound of a door opening and closing. “All right,” Sam said, his tone dead serious now. “What’s up?”

“Cas told me something,” Dean said. He paused, unsure how to proceed.

“Okay. What?”

“It’s not really something I can talk about.”

“What does that mean?”

Dean pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder while he shifted the napkin around, accidentally hitting a button in the process. “Sorry. It’s like… It’s kind of his secret to tell, or not, you know? But it’s big. It’s… fuck, I don’t know why he didn’t tell me before.”

Static crackled over the connection, like a gust of wind or someone huffing into the phone in frustration. “Well, then… Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t think so,” Dean said. “I don’t know. I don’t really know much about it other than, you know, the thing itself. It’s not a disease or anything.”

“Okay, well, that’s good, right? And he’s not in the mob or something?”

“No, he’s not in the mob,” Dean said. “I don’t think.” What if there was a witch mob? Jesus. How deep did this thing go?

“Well, if he’s not sick or dying, and he’s not in the mob, and he didn’t, I don’t know, kill anybody or knock over a casino or something, if it’s not any of those things…” Sam paused. “It’s not any of those things, right?”

“ _No_ ,” Dean said.

There was another _whoosh_ of static, this one maybe a sigh of relief. “Good. ’Cause just so you know, I didn’t really want my first big case to be my brother-in-law.”

“What makes you think it’d be _your_ case, Atticus?” Dean said, and Sam’s huff of laughter in response made everything a little bit better, just for a second.

“Okay, so if it’s none of those things, and you still can’t tell me what it is… I guess my question is, what’s bothering you about it?”

Dean thought about this for a minute. “That he didn’t tell me before now,” he said. “That he didn’t think he could, or whatever. That he thought I’d take it bad.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know.” Dean sighed. “Could’ve been better. I freaked out a little.”

“Why?”

 _Because I married a witch,_ he thought. _Because Cas is something I didn’t even know was real half an hour ago. Because the world’s different than I thought it was. Because I don’t know what it means for me. Us. Because I thought I knew what happens next, and I don’t anymore._

“What if I don’t really know him?” Dean asked quietly.

The line buzzed between them, heavy and empty all at once. Dean watched distantly as the pen traveled across the napkin, as though it were moving on its own. 

“I don’t know if I can answer that,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled miserably. “I know.”

“But here’s the thing. I’ve known you my whole life, Dean. I mean, I thought I knew you better than you knew yourself. And I did sometimes. But when you met Cas… It’s like there was this whole other person I didn’t know you were. And maybe you didn’t know it, either. But that doesn’t mean I was wrong about everything else. Make any sense?”

“It might,” Dean said.

“So, I mean… Whatever this thing is Cas told you, it’s only one part of who he is, right? Everything else about him is still valid. All the stuff you already knew, everything else he is, the guy you fell in love with… that’s still there. So the question is, does all of that matter more than this new thing that’s freaking you out, or not?”

Dean didn’t answer. He stared down at the drawing he’d been working on. The eyes still weren’t exactly right, but they never were, and this was ballpoint on a cocktail napkin, for god’s sake. But overall it was pretty dead-on. He could draw Cas in his sleep by now. And then at some point, he’d started sketching extra lines over the portrait, so that now Cas was wearing a wide-brimmed, pointed black hat. It wasn’t his worst look, all things considered.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said.

“No problem,” Sam replied. “And Dean… good luck, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He hung up and put the phone away, still staring at the napkin drawing. The bartender was busy with someone else, so he tucked a few bills under his glass and slid off the barstool. He picked up the napkin, considered crumpling it up, but instead folded it carefully and slid it into his back pocket.

 

He took the elevator back up to the suite, swiping his room key to access the upper levels. It didn’t stop to pick up anyone else, and as it made its slow climb, Dean thought back to that morning and the ride up to Cas’s apartment. He’d been alone in that elevator, too, and had spent the ride nervously smoothing down his jacket, trying to straighten his tie in the blurry brushed-metal reflection of the doors, and obsessively checking his pocket to make sure Cas’s ring was still there. When the doors had opened, his legs had momentarily turned to jelly, and he’d had to hit the button to stop them closing again while he got a hold of himself. Deep down, part of him had still been convinced that this was all too good to be true. That Cas would change his mind; that he’d see that Dean was no match for him, having spent his entire adult life in the same office building, mailroom to executive level, while Cas was traveling the world. That he’d realize he wanted more, deserved more, than Dean could give him. 

He’d worked himself into a hell of a state by the time he made it to Cas’s door, heart hammering against his ribs as loud as his knock. He’d waited, head bowed and eyes closed, willing himself to breathe normally, to keep it together. And then the door had opened, and he’d looked up into Cas’s eyes, and all that other bullshit had just fallen away. The way Cas stared at him, lips parted slightly and pupils dilated; his hair that always looked like he’d been running his fingers through it no matter how much product he used; the damn tie he still couldn’t tie… _That_ was Cas; not the figure in Dean’s worst fears that he’d never be good enough for, but the man saw him as so much more than Dean could see in himself.

That was real.

The elevator dinged, and Dean took a deep breath, and stepped out.

There were only four suites on this level, the door to each one in its own little alcove, so Dean had another moment of privacy to collect himself before he knocked. “Cas?” he called softly through the door, bracing himself for a muffled “ _Go away_ ,” if not worse. But there was no answer from within the room. After a moment, he swiped his key through the lock, and the door swung gently open.

The room was dark and empty. Dean’s heart dropped. The clothes they’d left across the floor were gone, the damp towels no longer hanging over the side of the bathtub, the beer bottles Cas had produced from thin air now vanished again from the bedside table. He drifted toward the middle of the room, numbly, eyes drawn to the empty bed. His knees were going weak again, and he braced himself against the bedpost, the ring on his left hand catching the moonlight streaming through the balcony windows.

Some movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He looked up, eyes darting around the shadows until he saw it again, out on the balcony. In a second he was across the room, wrenching open the glass doors.

Cas turned, eyes wide with alarm—still wide even once they’d registered Dean. God, he looked terrified. Dean was beginning to hate that look in Cas’s eyes, and he cursed himself for putting it there.

 _“Dean,”_ Cas said.

How he could put so much sorrow into one syllable, Dean didn’t know, but it hit him right in the gut. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and pull Cas to his chest and soothe away whatever was making his voice sound like a heart breaking, but he didn’t know if he had that right anymore. Instead he stayed where he was, twisting his ring on his finger, not able to look him in the eye. “Cas…” he began.

“Wait.” Cas shook his head. “Dean, whatever you’re going to say…” He closed his eyes. “Whatever it is, I’ll hear it. I’ll accept it. But first, just let me say one last thing.”

Dean’s thoughts snagged on the word _last,_ but he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas’s eyes seemed to be drawn to Dean’s hands as he fiddled with his ring, but he pulled them away, met Dean’s eyes instead. Even now, after hundreds of hours of staring into those eyes, Dean was still overwhelmed by the way they caught him up. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to. And right now, on the brink of whatever was about to happen, he wouldn’t dare.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said. “Sorry that I wasn’t honest with you. I… don’t have an excuse, but for what it’s worth, I never meant to hurt you, or to scare you. I didn’t mean for… what I am… to ever cause you any harm. In a sense, I suppose I’d convinced myself I was protecting you by not telling you, but the truth is I was only protecting myself. The longer I knew you, the more I loved you, the more I had to lose. I put off telling you, and I told myself it was excusable, that by the time I found the right way to say it, it wouldn’t matter for much longer. But in all of that, what I didn’t let myself think about was what you would’ve wanted. For that, I am truly sorry. I should never have let it come to this, to… to marriage, without giving you all you needed to know to make such a decision.”

He bowed his head. In the moonlight, Dean saw a single tear fall from his eyes, and that was it. Before he could think, he was crossing the balcony, taking Cas’s face in his hands and tilting it up and brushing away the new tears now spilling down his cheeks. 

“Cas,” he said, his own voice now utterly wrecked as he tried to keep from crying. He squeezed his eyes shut, and bowed his forehead to Cas’s, held him so close that he could feel each of Cas’s ragged breaths ghost across his lips. “I’m scared,” Dean said. “I’m not gonna lie to you, babe. I’m scared to death. But not of you. Okay? You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Dean—”

“Listen to me.” Dean stroked his thumbs along Cas’s cheekbones, something that always calmed him down. “I’m not scared of you. I don’t care what you are. I mean, I _care_ , but…” He sighed. “I’m scared because there’s this part of you I don’t know. That I didn’t even know was there. And I’m scared because I don’t know what it means, and I don’t know who to be for that part of you. I didn’t sign up to marry only some of who you are. I’m here for the whole package. You got that?”

“Yes,” Cas breathed against his mouth. Dean had an overwhelming urge, then, to close that last inch between them, but there were still things to say before he lost all capacity for speech. So he pulled back, dropped his hands from Cas’s face and let them trail over his shoulders, down his arms to clasp his hands.

“And this crap about _not letting it come to marriage…_ ” Dean said.

“It was wrong,” Cas said. “And unfair. You deserved a chance not to marry me.”

“No, I deserved a chance to _marry you anyway._ ”

Cas blinked, stunned.

“Cas, do you really think…” Dean shook his head. “Look, I freaked out, I know. And I’m sorry. I never should’ve walked out that door. And I can’t promise I wouldn’t have done the same stupid thing if you’d told me this six months ago. But this… whatever this is, whatever it means, it was never gonna be a dealbreaker for me. I was sure about you from day one, Cas. Nothing was ever gonna change that. Nothing ever will. I just wish you’d given me the chance to prove it.”

“I wish I had, as well,” Cas said. He traced the circle of Dean’s ring with his fingertips; Dean mimicked him, and the half-smile that played at Cas’s lips was the greatest relief of his life.

“We’ve gotta do better about this,” Dean said. “No more secrets, okay? We’re in this together. That’s the deal.”

Cas’s smile faded. He drew back, just a little, but Dean noticed, and tensed, and grasped his hands tighter.

“Cas?” he asked. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“There’s something else you should know,” Cas said. Off the look in Dean’s eyes, he added, “It’s nothing bad, but as you said, we’re in this together, so it’s no longer just my decision to make.”

“Okay,” Dean said, tentatively. He took a calming breath, tried to slow his pulse. “Lay it on me.”

Cas looked up at the sky. Dean followed his gaze, half expecting to see some chick fly by on a broom or something, but there were only the stars and moon overhead, shining in a perfectly clear ocean of deep blue.

“How old do you think I am?” Cas asked.

“This feels like a trap,” Dean said.

“Just guess.”

“Not thirty-five, then.”

“Somewhat higher.”

“Fifty?”

“I was practically a child when I was fifty,” Cas said. “Higher.”

“A hundred?” Dean guessed. “You’re not older than that. No way does anybody get to a hundred and still can’t tie a freaking tie.”

“You learn something new every day,” Cas said. “And this year, I’ll be a hundred and twenty-nine.”

Dean stared. “Seriously?” Cas nodded, and he let out a low whistle. “Damn… This must be how Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends feel.”

“ _Dean._ ”

“No, I’m totally your trophy husband. This is awesome.”

“Are you finished?”

“Probably not,” Dean said. “So was that the big reveal? You’re older than telephones?”

“The telephone was patented in 1876,” Cas said. “Not that it matters much either way, when everyone you know can communicate telepathically.”

Dean goggled at him. “You’re a telepath, too?”

“I’m lots of things,” Cas said. “But no, that wasn’t the ‘big reveal’.” He took a breath. “As you can see, we… people like me…”

“You can say ‘witches’, Cas,” Dean said.

“Witches,” Cas repeated. “We don’t age as quickly as humans do. I appear to be the same age as you—”

“Eh, a little older.”

“— _despite my advanced years,_ ” Cas continued over him. “For a witch, I’m still quite young. My father died unnaturally, but my mother is still alive, and she’s nearly twice my age. In my family, it’s not uncommon to live well past five hundred years.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Dean said. Suddenly this wasn’t all that funny anymore. “So you… By the time I die—”

“In the span of a human life, a witch only appears to advance about twenty years,” Cas said. His voice was softer now. “Were I to remain immortal, you would likely never notice me aging. And I would not be old for a very long time… after.”

Dean’s chest felt strangely tight. He ran back over this information in his mind, trying hard to block out the morbid ramifications peeking around the edges. “You said, _were_ you to remain immortal,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning, there’s a choice,” Cas said. “Our immortality and our powers are intertwined. A witch who doesn’t do magic ceases to be a witch. There are few examples, and the lore is… inconsistent, to say the least. But according to my research, a witch who refrained from magic for about a year would become mortal.”

“Your research,” Dean repeated. “You looked this up. You’re thinking about this?”

“Of course I am,” Cas said. “Dean, when I realized I wanted to spend my life with you, it was a mortal life I meant. Equal terms. That’s part of how I justified not telling you I was a witch—I didn’t intend to be for much longer.”

“Jesus. Okay.” Dean took a step back, dropped Cas’s hands; he wiped his own, which had gone cold and clammy, on his jeans. “Cas, this is… I don’t know about this. Give me a minute.”

“Of course.”

Dean paced across the width of the balcony and back while Cas watched silently from the railing. There was too much information in his head—numbers, years, words like _immortality_ that took up more space than any one word should. He tried to sort through it all rationally, but what he kept coming back to was that Cas was basically willing to die to be with him. The _hell_ this news wasn’t anything bad.

“You’re a hundred and twenty-nine,” Dean said.

“Almost.”

“Yeah, okay. And your family… they live to be about five hundred?”

Cas tilted his head. “Approximately. Rarely more than six.”

“So what you’re saying… Cas, you’re talking about giving up _three hundred years._ ” Dean shook his head. “How the hell can you just be okay with that?”

Cas furrowed his brow at him, his head still tilted in that quizzical way. “You think I have doubts?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, think of all the stuff you could see in three hundred years. Hell, it’ll be like _Star Trek_ around here by then. How do you just give that up?”

Cas sighed, shook his head. He pushed off the balcony and came over to Dean, slid a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Dean had a fleeting thought of _“Not fair”_ before his mind dissolved into a warm haze, and his world collapsed to the space occupied by their bodies. All at once his body seemed to remember that it was still technically their wedding night, and that they’d undressed each other twice without actually making it to the main event. Cas’s hands slipped beneath his t-shirt, and Dean made a desperate noise low in his throat, and the only thing keeping him from dragging Cas back through the glass doors and into bed was this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that there was still something he needed to say, while he could still manage to form words. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, untangled his fingers from Cas’s hair and pulled back, gasping softly. Cas’s eyes focused on him reluctantly, and when they did, they were dark and heavy-lidded and held more than a little annoyance at the interruption.

“Answer me,” Dean whispered. “Cas… How can you give all that up?”

Cas tilted his head again, and stared into his eyes as though if he could see deep enough, he might finally understand him. “It’s worth it,” he said, as though it was obvious. “For what I’m getting in return.”

Dean had to glance away at that; but from this distance, really the only other place to look was at Cas’s lips, and Dean reflexively licked his own before he had the presence of mind to just close his eyes entirely. “Uh, that’s romantic as hell, Cas. But I just…” He shook his head. “The thought that I’m gonna be the reason you die…”

“ _Shh,_ ” Cas whispered, and Dean felt lips press softly to his. “That’s not how it works. I’ve lived a long time, Dean. And I’ve been lucky—I’ve found a life worth living this long. But I’m not interested in living three more centuries without you by my side. I’ve lived too long without you already.”

Dean trembled slightly under the weight of those words. “Cas…” he said, but then Cas’s mouth was on his again, and he lost the thread of whatever he was about to say. Cas pulled his t-shirt over his head, and the next thing he knew his bare back was pressed against the cool glass of the balcony windows and the rest of his skin was on fire from Cas’s touch. He was breathless by the time Cas broke the kiss to nip at the crook of his neck, and he just managed to gasp out, _“We’re not done discussing this,”_ before a hand slipping into his jeans made him suck in a sharp breath.

“ _Later,_ ” Cas rasped into his ear.

“Yeah,” Dean said, distantly. “Okay, later.”

He was only dimly aware of being maneuvered to and through the door, and from there he was on his back in bed so fast it knocked the wind out of him. _Definitely something witchy about that._ He meant to make some sort of remark about it, but Cas’s hands and mouth made it hard to concentrate, and even harder to care that he couldn’t. The last coherent thought he had for some time was to wonder what other sorts of tricks Cas might have up his sleeve.

**Author's Note:**

> (Moved all the other author's notes [here](http://asheswrites.tumblr.com/post/81504659153) to tidy up)
> 
> **Thanks to[Michelle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shellygurumi) for all her help with this fic.**  
>  Additional thanks go to [Moira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/moosefeels) and J for reading early versions of this story, and to Alix for the initial encouragement to pursue a _Bewitched_ AU.
> 
> [Now in Russian!](http://ficbook.net/readfic/1808223) Thanks to [SanadasBride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanadasBride) for the translation.


End file.
